The heavens stretched wide and hollow, a boundless sea of black velvet pierced by glittering stars. Pei Wong soared across it astride his flying carpet, the night wind pulling at his sleeves and hair as if to test the weight of his sorrow. His expression was neither calm nor frantic, but something in between—a weary mask forged from anguish and disbelief.
The clouds parted before him like drifting veils, their edges tinged silver under the half-moon's glow. Yet for all the beauty that surrounded him, there was no peace in that sky. The world above seemed too quiet, almost suffocatingly so. Silence had a way of revealing the noise within one's heart.
He let out a low breath that steamed faintly in the cold air. So this is what the heavens sound like when they mourn. His hands tightened on the silk tassels guiding the carpet. The wind whispered past his ears, carrying with it the ghost of a question he could not escape.
What have I done to deserve this?
